


The Acquisition Of One John Watson

by lookupkate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John, First Kiss, M/M, Serial Killer John, The beginnings of some major feels, infatuated sherlock, john watson is NOT evil, vigilante john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2017-12-24 21:14:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 17,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookupkate/pseuds/lookupkate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock watched John looooooong before they ever met. John has a secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Secret by The Pierces

Got a secret  
Can you keep it?  
Swear this one you'll save  
Better lock it, in your pocket  
Taking this one to the grave  
If I show you then I know you  
Won't tell what I said  
Cause two can keep a secret  
If one of the m is dead…

Why do you smile  
Like you have told a secret  
Now you're telling lies  
Cause you're the one to keep it  
But no one keeps a secret  
No one keeps a secret  
Why when we do our darkest deeds  
Do we tell?  
They burn in our brains  
Become a living hell  
Cause everyone tells  
Everyone tells…

Sherlock had a secret. He dare not tell anyone. Sometimes when John looked at him out of the corner of his eye, watching him warily from across the room, he wondered if he suspected. His secret, you see, was that he knew John's secret.

Asking someone to share a flat with you after knowing them for less than five minutes was bizarre, but wasn't that just like Sherlock? The first time that John spent the night at 221b Sherlock snuck up to his bedroom and watched him sleep. What was known to no one was that this was not the first night spent perched over John's sleeping form. What Sherlock was doing was not gathering new information that needed to be filed away, but rather enacting a ritual that began months prior. When later on Sherlock would talk about 'life before John' what he really meant was 'life before John knew Sherlock existed'.

Sherlock had spent the months before John moved in following the man's progress after he had been unceremoniously discharged from the army. He had become obsessed with the man, and their first meeting was as planned out at any high scale wedding. Sherlock waited until John felt he had no other choice but to leave London before he casually mentioned to John's old school friend Mike that he needed a roommate. He then gave Mike a coupon for a free coffee and danish at John's favorite coffee shop and sent the man on his way.

The truth was that Sherlock hadn't needed a roommate at all. As long as he took a few cases a year from Mycroft and stayed clean he had not only enough money for rent and food, but plenty more for clothes and incidentals. Sherlock thought he would live alone forever, his flat being the only true escape from the idiots packing the London streets. When Sherlock had been summoned to the crime scene of a fairly straight forward looking case he did not know that the case would change his life forever. He did not know that every day, no, every hour after would be known by him alone as AJW, or After John Watson.

The dead man was one Thomas Willard, known sex offender and all around sketchy character. He was found dead in an alley way apparently shot from the building across the street with the precision of a man (and we say man here because women tend to poison their victims) who knew what he was doing. The single bullet entered directly between the man's eyes and left a quite large hole in the back of his head. After a few interviews with the apartment building's residents it was written up as a revenge killing. 

What made this fairly common occurrence less common was the fact that the woman Thomas Willard was accused and punished for raping was not the suspect. What Sherlock knew, but refused to tell Lestrade, was that the woman's new neighbor, John H. Watson was the killer. This man, this army man, was present when the man had been murdered, but had such a compelling witness statement that Lestrade let him leave without a second thought. John H. Watson, you see, said he had attempted to save the man's life after he was shot. Only a mad man would pretend to save a man he just shot. Only a mad man, or a man so calm that he knew he could get away with it.


	2. Noble Deeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's secret world begins to unravel in Sherock's hands.

Vampire Smile by Kyla La Grange 

Baby you need to leave,

cause I'm getting drunk on your noble deeds,  
Baby I need a friend,  
but I'm a vampire smile, you'll meet a sticky end.  
I'm here trying not to bite your neck,  
but it's beautiful and I'm gonna get...  
  
...so drunk on you and kill your friends.  
You'll need me and we can be obsessed.  
And I can touch your hair and taste your skin,  
the ghosts won't matter 'cause we'll hide in sin.  
Oh oooo...  
  
Baby you're cruel to me,  
but you see I love it when you make me plead.  
I want a scar that looks just like you,  
'till then I gotta learn to be a wiser fool.

  
  


Sherlock began following John in earnest the day after the murder of Thomas Willard. He was careful to keep himself hidden, as he didn't want John to know of his interest. Sherlock spent the afternoon in the abandoned building across the street from John's flat. He expected to see the hardened killer pacing around his place planning the next murder. What he saw instead was peculiar in its tediousness. John Watson spent the entire day drinking tea and reading murder mysteries. When he moved to shut the blinds Sherlock was almost glad at the break. He took out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and smoked one before he left for home.

Sleep came that night as it never did, pulling Sherlock deep and throwing him into another world. He dreamt of John as he saw him that first day, covered in blood but serene. In the dream John was holding the dead rapists head in his lap, blood dripping down the sides of his jeans. When their eyes connected John smiled up sweetly and handed the head to him. He was woken by Mrs. Hudson who looked completely out of sorts. Her hair was a mess and she was still in her house coat.

"Sherlock dear, wake up. Sherlock, you've been screaming!" She said shaking him.

"Nonsense Mrs. Hudson, I never scream, let alone in my sleep." He replied weakly. He did have to admit that his throat hurt quite a bit.

"Of course not dear," She said carefully, "I'll make some tea."

Sherlock sat up from where he had been laying on the couch and noticed that the sun wasn't up yet. Only one thing to do this late, or rather early in the day. He had to hit the streets, see the man that dared slip into his dreams. He got up and straightened his clothes, moving to kiss Mrs. H on the cheek and grabbing his jacket from the back of the door.

"No tea for me Mrs. H. I have places to be." He said as he wrapped his scarf around his neck and descended into the crisp London air. No cab would pick him up at this hour, but he needed the walk to think anyways. A puzzle. A real puzzle after all this time waiting. His body hummed with anticipation. This man John Watson was a dichotomy in human skin. Mundane and commonplace in form, peculiar and exiting in action. Sherlock couldn't remember a time he felt more alive. He made his way across London by way of back alleys to avoid his brothers' cameras. This needed to stay a secret, he wanted John all for himself.

Sherlock was still deep in thought when he reached John's flat. He ducked inside the building and quietly took the stairs. After listening at the door for a few seconds, and looking under it for light, he took out his kit and unlocked the flat. Sherlock felt like thunder and lightning were living in his veins as he stalked across the room in semi darkness.

He took in his surroundings:

One small bookcase, all mystery novels

Laptop computer, opened to a blank blog page

Firearm in desk drawer, non-army issue Browning, serial number burnt off with acid

Picture frame with photo of men in uniforms, including John H. Watson

Official looking med kit in bathroom

No dirty dishes in the sink, fastidious

Coat by the door, simple footwear

Interesting. Nothing in the flat to give away the fact that this man was a killer besides the illegal firearm, which many ex-army persons were known to keep. Sherlock was not completely sure what he thought he would find, but it wasn't a sparse room. He moved towards where he believed must be the bedroom and slowly pushed open the door. There, lying still and quiet, was John. He breathed in easily, deep in REM sleep. Sherlock stood over him, watching his eyes flit back and forth under their lids. It was only when he heard the first taxi of the day drive by that he noticed the beginnings of light outside the window.

He turned swiftly and left the place as silently as he could, remembering to open the blinds in the livingroom. He locked the door behind him and crept out into the growing dawn. How had this happened? By his calculations he had stood over John for three hours and twenty seven minutes. How had he become so entranced? How had this man short circuited his internal clock? How soon before he could see that face again? Sherlock found his way into the facing building and lay in wait. What for, you might ask? For John. For John to move or leave. For John to wake and possibly kill again. For John alone.

He cracked open the second story window and lit up his first cigarette of the day. The windows were tall, and all he had to do to see out of them and into John's flat was to sit cross-legged in front of them. The room across the way sat silent and still for a while, but then there was a light. Sherlock sat and stared as John walked into the kitchen, stretching and leaning heavily on his cane. Then John began what Sherlock would soon find out was a charming morning routine. He opened his laptop and sat at the desk with an apple he brought from the kitchen. He stared at the screen without typing for a few long minutes and then went back to apparently make tea. When he returned to his desk he shut the computer and picked up a notebook that was stashed on the underside of the drawer. He wrote a few things in the notebook, eyebrows furrowed, while drinking his tea.

Sherlock stood without knowing it and had to jump away from the window to not be detected. Damn, John seemed to be ruining all of his bodies reactions. When he glanced back over he saw John slipping the notebook into the pocket of the jacket by the door before heading back down the hall. A few minutes later and John was back and wearing clean clothes. He slipped on his shoes and the coat and left the flat.

Sherlock left the abandoned building and waited for John to leave his. It took him a few seconds to realize that John had gone out the back door instead of the front. Once he saw John down the street he was able to catch up to him in no time. Sherlock thought that it really was kind of pathetic seeing someone so interesting using a cane. He turned up his collar and pretended to bump into the man in passing. He felt guilty for making such a compelling man fall to the ground, but he had the notebook, and no one was the wiser.

What Sherlock found when he got home was that the notebook was full of names, the first of which was crossed off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys liked the first chapter, so I wrote up another short one, thank you for all the love, it keeps me going.
> 
> The list is as follows:
> 
> Thomas Willard  
> Alastair Smith  
> Callum Jones  
> Lewis Williams  
> Felix Brown  
> Arran Robinson  
> Crispin Wright  
> Lennon Wood  
> Rupert Harris  
> Harvey Clark  
> Archie Turner  
> Barnaby Scott  
> Duncan Hill  
> Jasper Cooper  
> Augustine Morris  
> Angus Moore  
> Ellis King  
> Piers Baker  
> Connor Harrison  
> Stephen Morgan  
> Merrick Walker  
> Randall Ward


	3. Controlled Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock returns the notebook just in time.

Burn by The Cure

  
  


"Don't look don't look" the shadows breathe  
Whispering me away from you  
"Don't wake at night to watch her sleep  
You know that you will always lose  
This trembling  
Adored  
Tousled bird mad girl..."  
But every night I burn  
But every night I call your name  
Every night I burn  
Every night I fall again

"Oh don't talk of love" the shadows purr  
Murmuring me away from you  
"Don't talk of worlds that never were  
The end is all that's ever true  
There's nothing you can ever say  
Nothing you can ever do..."  
Still every night I burn  
Every night I scream your name  
Every night I burn  
Every night the dream's the same  
Every night I burn  
Waiting for my only friend  
Every night I burn  
Waiting for the world to end

"Just paint your face" the shadows smile  
Slipping me away from you  
"Oh it doesn't matter how you hide  
Find you if we're wanting to  
So slide back down and close your eyes  
Sleep a while  
You must be tired..."  
But every night I burn  
Every night I call your name  
Every night I burn  
Every night I fall again  
Every night I burn  
Scream the animal scream  
Every night I burn  
Dream the crow black dream

Dream the crow black dream...

What he held in his hand made his blood hum. This was beginning to look like the best kind of present, one that kept on giving. This was not a list of names, but a promise of chaos signed in blood. He took a picture of the screen and put the notebook back in his pocket. He could feel the anticipation growing as he caught a cab back to John's flat. He had to make it seem as if John had simply forgotten the notebook at home. This game was too good to stop yet.

Sherlock had the cabbie park two blocks away and took the second alley to the right. He surveyed the flat from the abandoned building before deciding that it was empty. He snuck up to John's front door and slid the book under it. He hoped that John would believe that it had slipped out of his pocket. He didn't want John to be suspicious just yet. He needed a solid plan before he would reveal himself, if he ever did.

\-------

John was sitting in his favorite cafe when he realized that the notebook wasn't in his pocket. If anyone had been looking they would have noticed all the color running from his face. No one was looking. No one ever looked at John. He had long ago perfected the appearance of unimportance. This had helped him with his mission. The mission was what he realized was immediately at stake with the missing notebook. He stood from his seat and dashed out the door.

When John rushed through the door of his apartment to find the notebook on the floor, Sherlock was watching. He sat in the building opposite and noted John's elevated heart rate. That wasn't all he noticed. John, fantastic confusing John, didn't seem to need his cane right then. His limp all but dissapeared when he was gripped with fear. This was something to save and use another time. Sherlock stuck the new information in his mind palace and continued to observe.

John ran his fingers over the paper, turning the book over in his hands, and sat down heavily in his chair. He let his head fall back for a second while his breathing slowed. He sat there for a while, chest going up and down, up and down, then rose and headed for the door. He stopped in his tracks and turned, going back to the desk and retrieving his Browning Hi-Power Mark III. He slipped the gun into his waistband and left the flat. Sherlock hurried to put out his cigarette and followed John back out into the crisp fall air.

Over the next half hour the two men wound their way through back alleys and unused buildings. Sherlock followed John close enough to see his every move, but far enough back to duck behind something should the need arise. John finally found his way to a local pub, or dump if you asked anyone who was sober, and stood silently by the back door. They remained positioned like this for over an hour, and Sherlock began to wonder what was going to happen. He started to understand how real this was getting when John removed a silencer and deftly attatched it to the black pistol. John then put in ear plugs and crouched. The excitement made him dizzy, so he started listing off observations about the gun in his mind to stay focussed.

  * Browning Hi-Power Mark III
  * Receiver - Steel, Black epoxy finish
  * Barrel - 4 5/8", Black epoxy on slide, High profile fixed sights
  * Action - Locked breech, Single-action trigger, Ambidextrous thumb safety (John was left handed)
  * Grips - Composite panels
  * 9mm Osprey Noise Suppressor
  * Diameter: 1.3″W x 1.75″H
  * Weight: 9.8 oz
  * Decibels: Dry: 125 dB* *Tested with a Sig 226



Suddenly the back door opened. Sherlock took in the scene as John pretended to be drunk when a man with a severely bad haircut emerged from the building. He stumbled up to the man, muttering and swaying. 

"Have you got a fiver?" John sayed with blurred speach and a quite good Irish accent. (Interesting, keep this in the mind palace)

The man looked up at John and with a sigh reached into his pocket. When he handed the bill over, John took him in an awkward bear hug. The man seemed disgusted. Then it happened. John reached his left arm around and ducked his head as he held the man tight against his chest. The silencer pointed at the back of the man's head and the gun went off, blowing out the front of his head. John slumped and dropped the body to the ground. He took out the ear plugs, placing them back in his jeans pocket and took out a hankerchief to wipe a bit of brain matter off his shoulder.

Once again the cane lay unused. Sherlock ducked behind a trash bin as John picked it up and left the scene. 

Sherlock stood looking at the dead man's body for a long time. He had never been able to see the before as well as the after. This, he realised, could become very addictive.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go, another murder, hope you like it, expect more soon.


	4. Abide With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock comes to terms with his new found obsession, and decides to take it a bit further.

**"Abide With Me" by The Mountain Goats**

 

 

 

Abide with me  
Fast falls the eventide  
The darkness deepens, lord with me abide  
When other helpers fail, and comforts flee  
Help out the helpless, lord abide with me

Swift to its close  
Ebbs out life's little day  
Earth's joys grow dim  
Its glories pass away  
Change and decay in all around i see  
O thou who changest not,  
Abide with me

The afternoon was passed on the couch at 221b. After the exciting lunch time murder Sherlock found himself unable to do anything but run the event over and over in his mind. The forethought put into the murder was extensive. This man was a downright marvel. The fact that he had thought to bring ear plugs even though he had a silencer meant that he had planned to kill the man up close. He had planned on holding the man against him as he pulled the life from his heavy form. The nerve of a man like John. Close quarters combat was obviously something he was used to.

The other thing that stuck out in his mind was the accent. Why had John used an accent unless he was afraid of people over hearing? Would John have killed the man in the bathroom if he hadn't stepped outside? How did he know where the man would be? Had he been following this man like Sherlock was now following him? He decided then and there that he had to have John to himself. He didn't quite know how he would do this, but he wasn't one to step down from a challenge, and nothing, nothing, had ever been this challenging.

Sherlock spent the evening looking up the names on John's list on the New Scotland Yard database. He had learned a few things from a hacker that used to sell him high quality cocaine that he used to insure his trespass would not be detected. What he learned was what he had expected; the men on this list had done wrong in one henious way or another. It seemed that our well mannered ex-army doctor was a bit of a vigilante. Sherlock knew that many soldiers came home feeling like they could no longer make a difference, perhaps this was John's way of coping.

One name did stick out however. Crispin Wright had been charged with murder, but something in the case file didn't sit right with him. Sherlock got his coat and scarf and headed out into the night. He would find Crispin and see for himself whether the man was guilty or not.

Sherlock arrived at the Wright estate at quarter after eight. He knocked on the door and an older woman showed up.

"Can I help you?" She said weakly.

"I'm here to see Crispin. I think he's been wrongfully charged." Sherlock replied.

The woman's face lit up and she ushered him in. "Oh, yes, my dear Crispin. Let me get him for you. Crispin? There is a man he to see you." She called out.

Twenty three seconds later a tall man came into the hallway. Sherlock knew right away that they had the wrong man. The way he walked told Sherlock that the man was weak. It looked like the man had symptoms of Multiple Sclerosis. His movement was not completely affected, but the muscles in his upper body were somewhat atrophied. He could tell by the way the man walked that there was no way he could have broken a man's neck bare handed.

"Hello, I'm Crispin. How can I help you. Or rather, can you help me?" The man said.

"How long have you been suffering with Multiple Sclerosis?" Sherlock asked.

"Two years...how did you know?" The man replied.

"I plan to get your case dismissed." Sherlock said, as he turned to leave.

"Thank you! Who are you?" The man cried after him.

"Think of me as a good samaritan. I'm sure NSY will contact you soon." Sherlock replied as he left the house.

The man was yelling praise and thanks behind him, but he had other things on his mind. Good samaritan, he scoffed, hardly. He took out his mobile and texted the information to Lestrade. He ignored the confused responses as he made his way towards John's apartment. The night hid him in its breast as he stole across the city. When he finally made it to John the man was fast asleep, cane left forgotten at the front door.

The light hitting John from the window had a bluish tint, and if it weren't for the movement of his chest he would look dead. The though made Sherlock's stomach turn. He wasn't sure how someone had gotten such a strong hold on him. He wasn't the type to grow attached to anyone. All he knew now was that he couldn't let John be hurt. He also knew that he would kill for this man. He had never killed before, but there was something about John that made him instantly loyal. Loyalty was both disturbing and comforting to a man like Sherlock.

He stood over the sleeping man for a while before making his way to the living room. He took the notebook out from its hiding place below the desk drawer and wrote a quick note.

The next morning when John took out the notebook to assess his progress he barely made it to the bathroom before he vomited. He was not a man with a weak stomach, after all he had been through in the war there was barely anything that could make him queazy. Just yesterday he casually cleaned brain matter off his jacket, for Christ's sake. Once he washed his mouth out in the sink he made it back to the desk, leaning hard against the wall and shaking with every breath. Someone knew. Fuck.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the picture, a name is crossed out with the word acquitted next to it.


	5. Paranoia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finds a way to hopefully put John's mind at ease

**"This Place Is A Prison" by The Postal Service**  


 

This place is a prison  
And these people aren't your friends  
Inhaling thrills through $20 bills  
And the tumblers are drained and then flooded again  
And again

Ther're guards at the on ramps armed to the teeth  
And you may case the grounds from the cascades to puget sound,  
But you are not permitted to leave

I know there's a big world out there like the one i saw on the screen  
In my living room late last night,  
It was almost too bright to see  
And i know that it's not a party if it happens every night  
Pretending there's glamour and candelabra  
When you're drinking by candlelight

What does it take to get a drink in this place?

What does it take, how long must i wait?

 

Sherlock thought that the note would make John feel better. He watched carefully from the opposite building as John paced the floor. He knew that the note would effect John, but he hadn't expected the look of sheer horror on the man's face. He had hoped that John would see it and be overjoyed. He thought that John would respond how he would, with curiosity and wonder. John did not look curious, he did not gaze at the notebook with wonder in his eyes. John looked like he was going to...yes, vomit.

Anger blossomed in Sherlock's belly. Why was John so stupid? Couldn't he see that this was Sherlock's way of telling him he had an admirer? Why is it that simple human beings always go first to fear. Dull. John had nothing to fear from Sherlock. Why couldn't he see that? It was so obvious.

'John', he thought, 'look at the spaces between the lines, look at what's missing.'

Wasn't it apparent that if Sherlock wanted to harm or stop John that he had had his chance. Sherlock was clearly able to enter his home without him knowing. And what did he do? Did he kill him? Did he maim him? No, he simply added some constructive criticism. Sherlock was dismayed that John didn't see the hidden meaning. What Sherlock didn't write was somewhere along the lines of

'Good job so far, love your work, keep it up.' What came across seemed to be,

'You are being watched! Fear, fear for your life!' How completely dull. Dull humans and their impossibly dull brains.

He wanted to go across the street to John's flat and tell the man just how disappointed he was. Perhaps John wasn't a challenge. Maybe what had intrigued Sherlock to begin with had passed. He supposed that only time would tell. For someone who hates waiting, this felt like a death sentence, and life was once again bleak. Maybe he should give John a sign that he wasn't a threat.

John spent the whole day feeling sick to his stomach. No matter what he did he couldn't get the picture of his notebook with SOMEONE ELSE'S writing in it out of his mind. When he finally went out of the flat he watched everyone who passed him with renewed anxiety. He looked behind himself constantly, and kept tripping over his own feet. He felt like he was hallucinating. He ran a hand through his hair and realized he was sweating profusely. He decided to return home.

Sherlock observed as John took the notebook from the drawer and sat at his desk. He ran his fingers over the writing, took a deep breath and seemed to steel himself. Then he opened the laptop. From his vantage point (and due to John's hunt and peck typing) Sherlock could read what he was writing. He was delighted to see that John was examining the newly dismissed case of Crispin Wright. A smile ran across his face.

'See what I did for you John?' Sherlock thought, proud of himself.

John finished reading and leaned back in the chair. He then reached into the desk drawer and removed his gun. Sherlock lit a cigarette and watched as John disassembled and cleaned his gun. The act as a whole was almost personal. It seemed to calm John immensely. He then got up and put on his jacket, looking around the room once more before leaving.

Now was Sherlock's chance. He left the adjacent building and went to his favorite book store as a plan brewed in his mind. He bought a hard cover copy of Mary Roach's Spook and set to work making a cypher. When he returned to the abandoned building John was still absent, so he entered his flat and left the book along with another note in the notebook.

John returned home with groceries later that day to find a new book and his notebook sitting open on his ottoman. There was new writing on the open page. He recognized it as a cypher right away and began to work it out. The final result is below.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like the cypher i made, it is real, and you can find it in Mary Roach's Spook, which is a really wonderful book. the cypher is organized as follows  
> (page#-line#-word#)
> 
> And if the picture doesn't show up, it reads as follows:  
> I have this to say  
> You  
> We're  
> Obviously profoundly  
> Disturbed  
> But failed to recognize  
> There's nothing mysterious  
> Or suggestive about it  
> And there's no need of  
> Becoming hysterical  
> Over it  
> The point to take away  
> From it's, you  
> Won't change  
> In honor of  
> Me


	6. Born of Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bond between the men, born of blood, grows stronger

 

**"You Or Your Memory" by The Mountain Goats**  


 

I checked into a bargain priced room on La Cienega  
Gazed out through the curtains at the parking lot  
Walked down to the corner store just before nightfall in my bare feet  
Black tarry asphalt, soft and hot

And when I came back, I spread out my supplies  
On the counter by the sink, looked myself right in the eyes

St. Joseph's baby aspirin  
Bartles & Jaymes  
And you  
Or your memory

I ducked behind the drapes when I saw the moon begin to rise  
Gathered in my loose ends, switched off the light  
And down there in the dark I could see the real truth about me  
As clear as day, lord, if I make it through tonight

Then I will mend my ways  
And walk the straight path to the end of my days

St. Joseph's baby aspirin  
Bartles & Jaymes  
And you  
Or your memory

 

John read over the translation several times before putting the notebook down. It seemed that he had something of a follower. Although going along with the plan may risk exposure he found that the idea of someone else knowing what he was doing was rather invigorating. He decided then and there that he would continue. Leaving the notebook on the ottoman, he began to research his next victim.

Callum Jones had been found guilty of the rape of a twenty three year old postal worker in early two thousand and six. Released from jail months later, he took up residence in a small apartment about twenty minutes from John's current home. The rape victim was now living in central London under a different name. John found all this out with the help of an old army friend who had seen to it that John had all the current info on those on his list. He decided that he would give the woman a call.

\-----------------

Sherlock watched John doing research on his computer from across the way and was a bit worried when he picked up the phone and started pacing. John put on an easy smile when the person on the other end of the line picked up and began to talk. The look on his face became confused and he held the phone out in front of himself, looking at the screen. The person on the other end of the line apparently hung up. John began to pace again as his features twisted and seemed to settle into frustration.

John suddenly stooped to his desk and wrote something on a piece of paper. Next he strode to the window and looked outside towards the abandoned building. Sherlock took no time to walk backwards fromt he window and linger just out of site. He watched as John held the paper to the window.

It stated simply: If you wish to get ahold of me for the mission text (phone number)

Sherlock smiled widely. John knew he was there, and instead of coming over and angrily confronting him, he had asked for help. Sherlock took out his phone and began to text the number.

-It isn't wise to communicate this way.-

-I don't seem to have much of a choice. I take it you have holed up in the building across the way. How else do you suggest we communicate? JW-

-I will have an associate deliver any correspondence to your flat. You may leave anything for me taped to your refrigerator.-

-I suppose it would be pointless to voice any outrage over you breaking into my flat, or ask for your identity. JW-

-Quite.-

And with that simple back and forth the bond between the two men deepened. The mission picked up speed, and by the end of the month John had killed Callum Jones and four others on the list. All of them ended up cornered and shot at close range. Lestrade was going absolutely bonkers with what the press insisted on calling the 'vigilante murders'. It took quite a lot of convincing to get him to believe that Sherlock didn't want anything to do with the murders, but a phrase like 'Gunshots are dull, call me when they're missing organs' was enough to silence the phone calls. Sherlock missed a few murders while bothering Mycroft at work to cement his alibi if anyone had the nerve to question it.

Sherlock suggested that John start killing with a different weapon, but when the note was burned in front of the window he decided not to breach the subject again. As well as a style, John seemed to have a type. Sherlock noted that all the men on his list were either rapists or murderers. Seeing the pattern and hoping to gain more of John's respect and trust (Why did he seek this man's trust?) Sherlock added two names of his own.

After the killing of the first name Sherlock added to the list, John's gun model was brought up in the news and Sherlock knew that Xmas couldn't have come any sooner. He used some connections to get John a Sig Sauer P220 Carry Elite Stainless and a .22 LR Sig-SD silencer. If anyone asked, Sherlock would say it was a combination of the stainless frame's increased accuracy and the STR's supposed surgical control that had him picking this pistol. The truth was that Sherlock thought the stainless looked good against John's tan skin, and the rosy tones in the handle would bring out John's blue eyes. Let no one ever say he wasn't a man with an eye for color.

John in turn left Sherlock a new Kaweko AL Sport fountain pen on the kitchen counter with the note- For a dear friend I fear I shall never know. Sherlock secretly kept the note with him at all times. This was the first time anyone had ever called themselves his friend. He used the pen night and day, even to write cruel notes to Mycroft. Sherlock kept it in his breast pocket.

The beginning of the next month brought about a change. John then left a note on the fridge telling Sherlock some bad news. John was running out of pension money, and his time in London seemed to be nearing and end. This was something Sherlock would not stand for. Over the next month Sherlock worked on his plan to get John to move in with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can see John's new gun here,  
> http://www.sigsauer.com/CatalogProductDetails/p220-elite-stainless.aspx  
> it's so pretty.  
> Sherlock's new pen is here,  
> http://www.jetpens.com/Kaweco-AL-Sport-Fountain-Pen-Fine-Nib-Gray-Body/pd/5824  
> I hope you guys liked this chapter, i didn't go into the murders, but I love their budding friendship!  
> Your kudos and comments make life in a world like this so very NOT dull!


	7. On The Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John's first few days together. It wouldn't take a genius to see that the adrenaline making John drunk was clearly named Sherlock in his mind's eye. It made it obvious to Sherlock that the next time John needed a high he would seek him out. Sherlock would be waiting.

**"Wonderlust King" by Gogol Boredello**   
  


Back in the day yo as we learned  
A man was not considered to be  
Considered to be fully grown  
Has he not gone-a beyond the hills  
Has he not crossed the 7 seas  
Yeah, 7 seas at least!

Now all them jokers kept around  
Just like the scarecrows in hometown  
Yeah, scarecrows in hometown  
From screen to screen they're travelin'  
But I'm a wanderlust king

I stay on the run  
Let me out  
Let me be gone  
In the world's beat up road sign  
I saw new history of time...  
New history of time!!!

Through Siberian woods  
Breaking up their neck  
Chinese moving in building discotheques  
Trans-Siberian sex toys and whatnot  
Yeah, and why not?  
Well at least it's something different  
From what they got in every other airport

Я не еврей, но кое-что похоже  
Соврать не даст ни Юра, ни Сережа!  
Simple because I'm not a total gadjo  
Да я шут, я трюкач, ну так что же?

I traveled the world  
Looking for understanding  
Of the times that we live in  
Hunting and gathering first hand information  
Challenging definitions of sin

I traveled the world  
Looking for lovers  
Of the ultimate beauty  
But never settled in  
I am a Wanderlust King!

I stay on the run  
Let me out  
Let me be gone  
In the world's beat up road sign  
I saw new history of time...  
New history of time!!!

And presidents  
And billionaires  
And generals  
They'll never know  
They'll never know  
What I have owned!  
What I have owned...  
I am a Wanderlust King!

 

 

As Mike left the lab at Bart's to make his way to the Criterion Cafe for his free pastry and coffee Sherlock nicked his phone. While Mike was gone Sherlock went into the morge and beat a cadaver with a riding crop. Outside of his mind it looked like just another bizarre experiment. Inside his mind was the truth. He needed a bit of cardio to bring out the pink in his cheeks and give him the thoroughly debauched look that would promise his sexual prowess to the doctor. He would look put together, yes, but ready for a chase as well. His appearance of sturdiness as a mate was something sitting heavy in his mind, whether he was aware of it or not.

Less than an hour later Mike was back, and with a friend. Sherlock asked Mike to use his phone, full knowing that John would lend him his, enacting the Benjamin Franklin effect. The Benjamin Franklin effect, you see would guarantee that by doing something for Sherlock (handing over his phone) as a favor, John would automatically see himself as liking the strage man. The fact that you like the people you do nice things for as opposed to doing nice things for the people you like, never left Sherlock's over clocked brain.

Sherlock made sure to wear and aesthetically pleasing outfit that played up his inherent beauty, depending heavily on the Halo Effect. By appearing attractive Sherlock cemented in John the idea that all his qualities were up to par with his strange allurement. The other outcome would be that john would give Sherlock a second chance when he didn't live up to the expectations. Anyone who watched the interaction who also knew Sherlock would be surprised at his offer of thanks to John. This would be the last time Sherlock would thank John for the use of anything he owned, and having John as a colleague and roommate would make everything owned by him in turn Sherlock's (In Sherlock's deluded eyes).

The entire orchestrated introduction was built to draw John in. As we know, Sherlock never does anything half-well. Sherlock spent the week coming up to the meeting glossing over psychology textbooks and peer reviewed sources concerning attractiveness of character, and Illusion of relationship. Sherlock put on his best show, knowing that he had but one chance to talk this man into staying. It hurt more than a little that he couldn't use up any favors he had saved up in their friendship over the mission as John had no idea Sherlock was the other man.

He smiled. He thanked. He smiled. He entranced. He smiled. He winked. He left.

John was his.

Sherlock left the lab and went home, knowing he had won John over. He had pulled out all the tricks, and laid forth the trap. Success poured oxytocin through his bloodstream. Arousal licking at his limbs. He danced a bit, up and down, feeling like he might explode. He was, after all, one of the greatest performers around, and when he really used his brain he was indeed the greatest show on earth, evolution be damned.

He walked around the flat, knowing that cleaning up would be wasted on John, since any small indiscretion would be seen now as an interesting idiosyncrasy instead of an annoying action. By leaving the bar lower the first time John entered the flat, he would never truly be expected to change. John would accept him as the flawed genius he was because he was that genius. Later, when John did show up at the flat, he would move a few things as if he would clean more, but noting John's current flat he knew John would do the real cleaning himself.

When Lestrade showed up the first night with a newly exciting case Sherlock was beyond ecstatic. He had a chance there not only to show off his brilliance, but to show John that he was much smarter than everyone else. He insulted people on the way quite humorously, if he did say so himself, and shone in John's eyes like a rare gem. He put John to work, showing the man that he respected his expertise above all others. When later on in the case he was able to get John to run around London at night he knew the deal was sealed.

Although he had high hopes for getting rid of the doctor's cane, he was still surprised at how quickly this was accomplished. John was not only invigorated, but a wholly new man in Sherlock's presence. It seemed that being around Sherlock had polished John to a shine as of yet not seen on the doctor. His smile almost manic, his eyes bright, he looked ten years younger than the man Sherlock had observed planning out murders in the small bedsit just days earlier. Sherlock felt like the owner of a mule turned dressage.

After chinese food and a ridiculous amount of Jiu, the duo made it back to 221b more than a little drunk on budding friendship and ethanol. The rest of the night was spent recounting the case, and giggling like school girls. When John finally went to bed Sherlock stayed watching him sleep for only a short time before sleeping himself. When Sherlock woke to find John starting his morning routine in the kitchen he realized that the place had never felt more like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of the ideas of persuasion in this chapter were helped by the book You Are Less Dumb Now by David Mcraney. Go buy his books, the man is a mad genius.


	8. Armor Falling Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John settle into domesticity.

 

**"Pale September" by Fiona Apple**  
  


Pale September  
I wore the time  
Like a dress that year  
The autumn days  
Swung soft around me  
Like cotton on my skin  
But as the embers  
Of the summer  
Lost their breath  
And disappearred  
My heart went cold and  
Only hollow rhythms  
Resounded from within  
But then he rose  
Brilliant as the moon in full  
And sank in the  
Burrows of my keep  
And all my armour  
Falling down  
In a pile at my feet  
And my winter giving  
Way to warm  
As I'm singing him to sleep

He goes along just  
As a water lily  
Gentle on the surface  
Of his thoughts  
His body floats  
Unweighed down by  
Passion or intensity  
Yet unaware of the  
Depth upon which he coasts  
And he finds a home in me  
For what misfortune sows  
He knows my touch will reap

And all my armour  
Falling down  
In a pile at me feet  
And my winter giving  
Way to warm  
As I'm singing him to sleep  
All my armour  
Falling down  
In a pile at my feet  
And my winter giving  
Way to warm  
As I'm singing him to sleep

It was during the first week of living together that John made his next kill. He told Sherlock he had to work late, which was true, but spent an hour longer wandering London in search of his newest victim. Sherlock, as usual, followed quietly. John stalked his prey in his scrubs, his street clothes in a bag on his shoulder. His target, Barnaby Scott, was a rapist and a fool. John found him lingering outside his favorite pub, and snuck up behind him, the night hiding him from view. Then John did something surprising. Holding his hand over the man's mouth, John quickly slit his throat with a small hunting knife. John Watson, the most interesting man Sherlock had ever known.

Sherlock stood entranced for a while, then ran home to make sure John came in after him. When john arrived at 221b Sherlock was on the couch, where John left him that morning.

"Have you even moved today?" John inquired.

Sherlock only mumbled. John went to the bathroom and peeled off the bloody scrubs, changing into a pair of pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. When he came back into the living room and went to make tea Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table.

"Quite a bit of blood." He said, without looking at John.

"Yes, stab wound in A&E. I was the closest when the man came in, so I helped staunch the flow of blood." John lied.

Sherlock just nodded.

\-------------

Things went well at 221b. John seemed to get comfortable with the living situation in no time, putting up with Sherlock like a champ. They went on a few cases together, and seemed to work perfectly as a team. Sherlock continued to look in on John every night as he slept, noticing differences in his sleep patterns immediately. John had stopped having nightmares within a week of living there, and the cane had been left by the door to gather dust.

The two men lived in a strage sort of domestic harmony, each filling a need of the other. Sherlock found himself thinking of John constantly. He filled room after room of his mind palace with John. He noted John's sleeping and eating habits, going as far as to chart the man's sleep cycles. He spent time watching John writing his blog out of the corner of his eye. The hunt and peck style becoming a soothing pattern to his itching brain.

Sherlock pushed John's buttons experimentally, seeing how far he could bend the man. From body parts in the fridge to requests for tea at strange hours, John outdid Sherlock's expectations. One night after waking John up at three am to take part in a useless experiment Sherlock got a text from his brother.

\- As much as I like to watch the good doctor squirm, I would have to suggest that you don't break this toy. MH

-John isn't a toy, and I don't know what you are talking about. SH

-A pointless experiment at three in the morning? You are going to drive the man away. I really don't think you would do well without him at this point. Tread carefully, dear brother. MH

-I know exactly what I am doing...it's you that are up in the middle of the night spying on me. SH

Although he didn't admit it to his brother at the time, Sherlock thought he was right about his predicament. He was slowly beginning to see that living was immensely enhanced by Watson's presence. Not only was the doctor a perfect stand in for the skull, he was also a great observer. As much as Sherlock would suggest otherwise, John picked up on things that most wouldn't. John was able to read Sherlock's body language like no other, and was a sort of rosseta stone for Lestrade and the rest of the met.

John became friends with Lestrade, and spent at least one night a week out at a pub with the man. They bonded over stories of Sherlock's bizarre behavior, and watched football on the pub telly. John felt like he was truly home for the first time since being let go by the army.

A month later, after three more murders and late night runs through London'n back alleys, Sherlock confronted John. John had just shot a man, and was walking quickly back home when Sherlock spoke from behind him.

"Good shot. Of course it would be hard to miss so close up." Sherlock stated nonchalantly.

John jumped and pointed the gun at his friend. He slowly let the gun fall to his side before speaking. He looked like he was going to vomit.

"Sherlock...I can explain..." He said, breathing rapidly.

Sherlock simply took a step closer and reached into his pocket. He then held his hand out towards John, his fountain pen resting in his palm. John looked confused at first. The confusion didn't last long.

"You." He said.

"Me." Sherlock confirmed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omgomgomgomogomgogoneorwgniuo45eruighfqiuyeasgvgkj!!!!!! i love this story so damn much! All the kudos make me feel like a bloody rock star!!!!!


	9. Not Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John comes to terms with the fact that Sherlock knows his secret.

 

**"Don't Confess" by Tegan And Sara**  
  


Don't think I'll confess  
Don't think I'll confess that I  
Don't think I'll deny  
Don't think I'll deny that I  
Don't be so hard on yourself   
You won't get better till you get worse  
Yeah you send a little smile my way  
And don't be so hard on yourself  
You won't get better til you get worse  
Yeah you send a little love my way  
Every second I spend waiting  
Drags me closer to this grave  
I'm not alone  
No, I'm just on my own  
And I, it's a little cold outside  
Don't think I'll escape  
Why would I escape you  
Don't think I'll replace  
9 How could I replace you  
And don't be so hard on yourself  
You won't get better til you get worse  
Yeah you send a little smile my way  
And don't be so hard on yourself  
You won't get better til you get worse  
Yeah you send a little love my way  
And every second I spend waiting  
Drags me closer to this grave  
I'm not alone  
No, I'm just on my own  
And I, it's a little cold outside  
And so don't be so hard on yourself  
You won't get better til you get worse  
Send your love my way

John scrubbed a hand over his face, looking suddenly exhausted. "So all this time we have been living together...you've known...what I am?" He asked, looking up with fear in his eyes.

"Yes." Sherlock replied.

"And not once, did it seem like a good idea to tell me?" John asked.

"I'm telling you now." Sherlock said.

"Yeah, leave it up to you to pick the most dramatic moment to let me that you've been stalking me." John grumbled.

"Stalking? You said..we were friends." Sherlock replied shakily.

"I never said....oh." John responded, suddenly realizing Sherlock meant the Christmas note. "I suppose I did."

"Let's go home, John." Sherlock said, smiling at how vulnerable John looked.

They continued down the alleyway without another word, making their way back to 221b. Once in the flat John went into default mode and stumbled into the kitchen to make tea. Sherlock walked into the sitting room and picked up the violin. He drew out long notes and watched the street below. When the tea was ready John entered the sitting room and placed a cup for Sherlock on the table.

"I guess we should talk about this." He said warily, not sure what else he should say.

Sherlock turned and took the tea. "There's nothing to talk about, John. I know your secret, and and now you know mine. Nothing's changed."

"Nothing to talk about?" John said, becoming visibly frustrated. "How exactly did I become your flatmate, Sherlock? Are you really suggesting that you didn't plan that out?" He hissed.

"You're mad. Are you mad? Why are you mad?" He replied, looking confused.

"You LIED to me, Sherlock! You manipulated me into living with you. I may not be a genius, but I can tell when I'm being manipulated. You could have just told me who you were and offered the flat share, but you didn't. That would be too straight forward. Instead, you got me to move in with you, all the while knowing what I was, and not telling me." John explained. "Can you really not see why that is creepy?"

"I...thought you would be pleased. I helped you when you had nowhere else to go. I didn't lie...I just waited to tell you the truth." Sherlock said, averting his eyes from John's angry gaze.

"You didn't give me the choice, Sherlock. You didn't think for one second that I might not want to live with someone who knew...who knew what I really am."John hissed.

"And what, pray tell, is that, John?" Sherlock asked quickly.

"A monster....a bloody monster." John replied, looking dejectedly at the floor.

Sherlock realized then what was really making John angry. It wasn't that Sherlock had kept his identity a secret, but the fact that he hated that part of himself. Sherlock felt a pang in his chest that he could only imagine was pity. He put down his cup and went to John's side. He put his hand on the man's shoulder and spoke in what he believed to be a soothing tone. "You're not a monster, John. You may be a criminal in the eyes of the law, but you were never a monster. You are the most moral man I have ever known."

John shook beneath Sherlock's hand. After a few moments of silence he looked up. "You're not...disgusted?" He asked.

Sherlock chuckled. "Not in the least, John. I AM the one who sought you out, after all. I think of you as a sort of comrade in arms. You're a better man than me. I only help get criminals caught because it's fun, not because I'm trying to help mankind. My interest in solving crimes is purely selfish, whereas your actions are based on the greater good."

John sighed and sank back into his chair. "I guess you have a point. I just didn't want to be done with getting rid of the bad guys after being discharged from the army. I didn't want to stop making a difference."

"And you haven't." Sherlock replied. "Want to get takeout?"

"Yeah, sure." John replied, relieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter for you guys, sorry it took so long. It took me a while to really work out how I think John would react. I think I got it right. Once again, your comments and kudos make my work worth writing, you guys are all my heros! If you have a second to think about it let me know what your favorite line is from this story.  
> xoxoxokate


	10. Fast Sinking Anchor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock go on the mission for the first time as a team.

 

**"Momentum" by The Hush Sound**  
  


You are the dark ocean bottom  
And I am the fast sinking anchor  
Should I fall for you?  
should i fall for you?  
You are the scar on my tissue  
That I show all of my new friends  
Should I show you me?  
should i show you me?

All we need is a little bit of momentum  
Breakdown these walls that we've built around ourselves  
All we need is a little bit of inertia  
Breakdown and tell  
breakdown and tell

That you are the rain on the fire  
Deep in the trees when no one was looking  
Should I speak of this?  
should i speak of this?  
You are a mirage in the distance  
That defies the heat of the desert  
Should I believe in you?  
should i believe in you?

all we need is a little bit of momentum  
Break down these walls that we've built around ourselves  
all we need is a little bit of inertia  
break down and tell  
break down and tell

These rules are made to break and these walls are built to fall  
These rules are made to break us

These rules are made to break and these walls are built to fall  
These rules are made to break us all

all we need is a little bit of momentum  
Break down these walls that we've built around ourselves  
all we need is a little bit of inertia  
break down and tell  
break down and tell

that you are

break down and tell break down and tell  _[x2]_

that you are

 

It took John a while to get used to the idea of continuing the mission. After two weeks with no kills he began to itch for it. It was about 8:16 on a Thursday night when Sherlock finally confronted him.

"If you keep this up you might have a breakdown."He said, standing behind John who was cleaning his gun.

"Jesus, Sherlock, you're lucky my gun is in three parts. Don't sneak up on me like that." He said with a start, quickly hiding his head in his hands.

"I meant what I said, you need to kill, I can almost smell it on you." Sherlock said, now uncomfortably close to John's prone form.

"I don't NEED to do anything, Sherlock. I a perfectly capable of controlling my impulses." John said, sitting up straighter and going back to cleaning.

"Oh, I have no doubt you believe that, but the body doesn't lie. Your trigger finger on your left hand has been twitching, and this is the fourth time in two weeks that you have cleaned your Sig. If you keep this up you'll ruin the finish." Sherlock replied.

John slumped down once again, sighing loudly. "Maybe I do....need a bit of action." He whispered.

"Good, because I have picked out your new victim." Sherlock said with a bit too much joy in his voice for general decency.

John looked up at Sherlock, his face belying the fact that this sort of thing annoyed him. It hurt Sherlock a little to realize that john didn't yet think of them as a team. The twinge of disappointment crossed his face too quickly for John to pick it up. He turned to the desk and took out the notebook, noticing the flush on John's neck. He opened it to the second page and described the man whose name was neatly printed.

"Erik Trower was just sixteen when he raped his first victim. She was twenty, and they had been dating for some time before the incident. The fact that he was close to under age made the woman withdraw the report. Luckily for her, nothing reported ever really disappears. His latest girlfriend has been to the hospital twelve times in the last five years, with injuries ranging from burns to broken ribs. She refuses to press charges. She was brought in to A&E yesterday unconscious, and is now in an induced coma with suspected brain damage. Erik is currently by her side, and quite close to getting her inheritance, should her status worsen. Let's nip it in the bud, shall we?" Sherlock was beaming by the end of his description, quite proud of himself. John turned in his chair and began putting the gun back together.

"I don't want you coming with me on this one." He said quietly.

"Nonsense, I always come with you." Sherlock said, realizing too late that John may still be touchy about the matter of the 'always' being unknown to him for so long. "Besides, you'll need me to distract the staff." He added, hoping to diffuse the situation.

"No. The answer is no, Sherlock. I don't want you coming, I don't want you to get caught up in this if it goes bad." John said sternly.

"You never worried about me before..." Sherlock mumbled.

"You didn't give me a choice!" John yelled angrily.

John stood and went up to his room, getting dressed to go out. Sherlock stumbled after him.

"I can take care of myself, John...you can't make me stay here." Sherlock replied, looming over the smaller man. John did his best military stance.

"I can't MAKE you? Right. I forgot for a moment that I was dealing with Sherlock Holmes, the EIGHT YEAR OLD consulting detective. I can't make you eat your peas either, can I?" John said , looking thoroughly exasperated. He pushed his way past Sherlock and stomped down the stairs. Sherlock was on his heels.

"Don't shut me out John! I want to work with you, why can't you see that?" Sherlock hissed impatiently.

John had his hand on the door knob, but stilled. He breathed a big sigh. "Fine. Come along." He said, finally turning the knob.

Sherlock jumped up and down a bit before following John down the stairs and out into the night. They walked, taking back streets as usual, and the whole way there Sherlock didn't stop talking. He went on and on about how nice it was that John knew that he knew. He sang John's praises and prattled on about how exciting the first night watching him had been. John tried not to show how pleased he was. The illusion was broken when Sherlock spoke next.

"You were my first....I mean, that was my first...first time seeing a murder I mean..." Sherlock stuttered, turning pink and looking away.

John saw the opportunity to take the piss and did. "So would you say that I helped you....lose your virginity?" He said, giggling furiously. "Was your first time...as you always dreamed it would be?" He continued, hissing out laughter.

"I...that's not funny, John" Sherlock said, now turning the shade of a ripe turnip.

John laughed some more, and poked Sherlock's arm. Sherlock was fairly quiet on the rest of the trip, although he wasn't visibly pouting. When they made it to the hospital John asked Sherlock which room the woman was in whilst they made their way to the back of the building.

"So what's the plan?" Sherlock asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Tonight we observe. We wait for Erik to exit the building and watch his movements." John replied.

"That's it?" Sherlock asked impatiently.

"Unless you happen to have a better idea." John replied, looking annoyed (which always seemed to suit him).

"As it happens, I do." Sherlock said, standing proudly. "Erik is a smoker, I will enter the building under the pretense of visiting an ill friend. I will pretend to commiserate with the man. After a while I will pull out these" He removed a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, "And offer him a smoke. He will exit the building, and you will.... extinguish the problem." Sherlock said, smiling.

"I really think you missed your calling as a Bond villain." John replied, smiling back up at him. Sherlock looked confused, so John just nodded. "Go on then, get me the hearty beast." John said, referring to the audio comedy Cabin Pressure. Sherlock cocked his head to one side.

"You really should stop trying to charm me with popular trivia, John." He said, frowning. Then he turned and left.

John stood in the dark, waiting for what felt like too long. His mind whirred with thoughts of Sherlock. What if he got caught? What if the man attacked him? Why was he so damn concerned? John took out his gun and attached the suppressor. This was not the time to worry about Sherlock.

The exit door jumped open and two men walked out, talking jovially and lighting up cigarettes. John counted to three and held the gun to the man's head. A small pop and his body slumped to the ground. Sherlock stood frozen as John removed the suppressor and put both it and the gun away, then moved the man's body behind the bin. John looked up at him, tilting his head to one side and silently asking if he was okay. Sherlock nodded and they were off. They moved quickly on the way home, and made it there in record time.

Once home they stood in the entryway, huffing out breath and looking at the wall opposite. They turned in sync to look at each other.

"You okay?" John asked.

"Yes. It's just..." Sherlock said quietly.

"What? It's just what?" John asked.

"He was looking right at me when...when you pulled the trigger. It was a bit...odd." He replied.

"You don't have to come again if you don't want to. It is a bit different when you aren't just observing. It's okay to feel uncomfortable." John said soothingly.

"No, it's not a problem. I just expected to feel some bit of remorse. I can honestly say that I felt nothing at the man's demise. I've felt more over a good book ending." Sherlock said.

"Ah, nothing to be sorry about, some of us are just build differently, I guess." John replied. "Tea?"

Sherlock nodded, and with that the dynamic duo's first kill was under their belt. Sherlock had never felt more accepted, and John had never felt less alone.

 

Go listen to the song here:

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zzGCdQ-Ns5s>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always pick a song for the feeling of the chapter, but this song is so perfectly fitted. It makes me want to dance and pull out my hairs and find someone who can take me away from myself. Thank you for the comments and kudos, they keep me going.


	11. Loose Threads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of their first kill together doesn't go as Sherlock plans, and we meet Murray briefly. John talks to Sherlock a bit about war and his thoughts on murder.

**"It's About Time" by Barcelona**   
  


One more day down these stairs  
His room is cold now and it hurts like hell  
He holds tight, he stares  
It’s almost over and it’s running through his head  
They don’t know me, they don’t know more than I show

She’s walking up to him so slowly  
It’s about time, it’s about time to fly away, but wait  
This one is different cause she’s lonely  
Fold your wings, you’ll need them more one day

One more smile, one more bed  
Her eyes are dark now and they hurt like hell  
She’s so still, she’s dead  
She knows it’s over, she holds her head and says,  
They can’t love me, they can’t love what I don’t show

He’s walking up to her so slowly  
It’s about time, it’s about time to fly away, but wait  
This one is different cause he’s lonely  
Fold your wings, you’ll need them more

There’ve been to many times when I’ve drowned you with these perfect lines  
And you’ve heard me say that I can cure you  
This morning I woke up with this overwhelming fear of love  
And I’m not sure if I can resurrect you

I’m walking up to you so slowly  
It’s about time, it’s about time to fly away, but wait  
I swear it’s different cause I’m lonely  
Fold your wings, you’ll need them more one day

As Sherlock and John sat and drank tea in post murder bliss John fussed on a mobile phone that Sherlock had never seen before. He didn't even notice when Sherlock began to speak to him.

"I SAID, what are you doing on that phone?" Sherlock almost yelled.

"Hmm?" John said, looking up. "Oh, just keeping you safe."

Sherlock looked confused while John continued to type. John then set down the phone and took a long sip of tea.

"I haven't seen that phone before...where is your old phone?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh, this is just a burner. I was talking to my old army buddy Murray, he's doing us a favor. You would like him. He's been helping me with the mission since before you came along." John replied, smiling.

Sherlock's stomach turned. "Since before me?" He asked. "Just what kind of favors does this man do for you?" He said in annoyance.

"You know, a little bit here and there. He got me my first gun, and helps me with my hit list. He's a proper genius! Keeps me up to date with all the comings and goings of the people on my list, and other things. Right now he's getting rid of our body, or rather Erik's." John said, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

The look of understanding washed over Sherlock's face. "Oh." He stammered.

"Yes, oh." John said. "Now you realize why I didn't want you coming with me. I knew what your plan would be from the get go Sherlock. What did you say about the smart ones always wanting to get caught? You got so excited about being a part of this that you forgot that I have a system. You thought we could just walk in half cocked and kill a man. Did it really never occur to you that there was someone behind the scenes? Someone making sure I didn't get caught?"

Sherlock's face reddened. "I just..."

"You just didn't think did you?" John asked.

"No. I guess not." He replied.

"You can be a part of this Sherlock, but it has to be done my way." John stood and took both of their cups to the kitchen, quietly washing them and placing them o the mat to dry.

Sherlock sat in stunned silence. He never thought for a second that John wasn't working alone. Why had that never occurred to him. It seems that he had made John out to be some sort of hero, and was trying so hard to be a part of his fun that he wasn't thinking. He cursed himself inwardly for showing his face on the hospital cameras. He realized a bit too late that the missing man would undoubtably be trased back to him. He was still angrily muttering to himself when john walked over and stood next to him.

"Will you listen to me next time?" John asked, drying his hands on the dish towel.

"Yes, John." Sherlock replied.

\-------------

Later that week Sherlock was brought into the Met for questioning on the disappearance of Erik Trower. He hung his head on the way in and John refused to say 'I told you so". He was interviewed by a young woman he hadn't met, disappearances not being Lestrade's division. The woman tried to get something out of him, but failed, and seeing as there was no sight of the man after he left the building with Sherlock she let him go. The ride home was humiliating.

Once home, John made tea and they got to work on the next case without another word.

\-------------

At the beginning of the next week John brought a man home with him after work. He was tall with broad shoulders, and Sherlock didn't like the way john was looking at the man.

The two men entered the sitting room laughing, and John introduced the new man. "Sherlock, this is Murray."

Murray stuck out his hand and said, "Good to meet you Sherlock, I've been hearing great things about you."

Sherlock took his hand and gave him a pathetic fake smile. John told the men that he would make tea and left them alone to talk.

"So you're the brilliant Sherlock Holmes, eh? John talks about you constantly." Murray said with a big smile.

"That's funny, he's only mentioned you once." Sherlock said with a fake smile.

"Well, we have a rather quiet relationship." Murray said smiling.

John returned to the room with three cups of tea on a tray. He sat next to Sherlock and took a sip.  
"I hope Sherlock isn't being too rude." He said to Murray.

Sherlock frowned at him and he chuckled.

"Nah, he's just fine." Murray said.

Sherlock bristled and looked hatefully at his tea. He stood up and said, "I'll be in my room." As he walked into his room he heard John talking cheerily behind him. 'Hateful', he thought. Why did John like this man so much? He was simple and boring, just a large hunk of useless meat, the same as everyone else.

Sherlock lay down on the bed and looked at his ceiling. He thought of the week before and his mistake. It made him uncomfortable that he had failed so spectacularly. He was almost obsessed with proving to John that he would be useful to the mission. Why had he thought that was important? He had never spent even a thought on impressing anyone before. Not once in his life had he been concerned with that.

John. John, John, John. What about John made him willing to try. He ate for John. Just enough to make John happy. He slept for John, when he really became concerned. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice the bedroom door open. John walked in and sat next to Sherlock on the bed, placing his hand on the man's knee. Sherlock glanced up with a surprising look of hope on his face.

"You know you matter, right. Just because I'm friends with Murray doesn't mean...doesn't mean you're not important." John said, looking up at Sherlock.

Looking for an out, and feeling greedy for new information on John, Sherlock asked "When did you first kill a man."

John sighed and took his hand back before speaking. Sherlock didn't know if that was a good sign, or a bad sign, or even a sign at all.

"I had been in the army for a year before it happened. I spent a good amount of time during that first year on the front lines. It isn't how it seems on tv. It's a lot of pretty desolate places with just a few men. They would go try to take down some insurgents, and then come back to me bloodied and broken. War isn't easy, and the waiting was often times what almost broke me. I knew that sooner or later someone would come to me dripping crimson, unable to walk, and that was what I lived for. The between times, though, they were awful. One night when I was about going out of my mind with boredom I agreed to go on a supply run with a few men. The Humvee we were in was hit by artillery fire and I stayed behind with a wounded man as the others ran out into the night. A figure snuck up on us in the dark and I killed the man. It was really close up, and the first time I had dealt with carnage that I had created myself. It was... difficult. You never really get used to it, you just learn how to live with the consequences."

John looked up at Sherlock, where he sat next to him in awe. John smiled sadly as Sherlock realized the look on his face and unceremoniously closed his mouth.

"When did you realize that you like to kill? Was it after the first man?" Sherlock asked.

"I wouldn't say I like to kill, Sherlock. It's more of a matter of not minding too much the outcome of certain actions. It's not like I get off on snuffing out a human life." He said. "I like shooting, firing off a gun is quite hypnotic in a way. I guess I understood that I didn't mind killing once I was in the army and had to a few times."

"Isn't it possible that you went into the army so that your conscious mind could come to terms with you wanting to kill another human being? The unconscious mind controls more than we admit." Sherlock replied.

John turned to him and cocked his head. "Careful there Sher. You're on dangerous ground." John said back to the man.

"Sorry." Sherlock said, looking down at his feet.

"I'm glad you were shot." Sherlock said, not knowing how bad it would sound.

John stood up with a start. "You...what?" He questioned, teeth grinding and face flushed.

"I didn't... I mean...I. I need to start over. Can I start over?" Sherlock stuttered.

"You damn well better!" John barked, growing more irritated.

"You got shot. That was bad. But, then you came to me. I wish you could have come to me without being shot." Sherlock said.

"Oh. Well, that's sweet I suppose." John said, sitting down. "Tea?" John asked, standing.

Sherlock nodded and followed John into the kitchen.


	12. An Aside To Acquisition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is an au of the original acquisition of one John Watson.

The next morning they sat having tea, and John was busy on his phone. Sherlock was still feeling the rush from the murder, and was filing things away in his mind palace when a knock came at the door. John looked up from his phone with a smile. "I think that'll be for you." He said grinning.

Sherlock stood, looking confused, and went to the door. When he opened it Mrs. Hudson swarmed into the room. "Oh, Sherlock, you are such a dear. I didn't think you had remembered." She huffed, kissing him on the cheek and then leaving the flat. "I'll make both of you something nice with it for dinner!" She cried happily from the stairs.

Sherlock turned to face John, mouth opening and closing life a dying fish. John laughed at the look on his face. "Close the door and I'll tell you a secret." John whispered.

Sherlock closed the door and went to sit infront of John, cocking his head to the right and waiting for the explanation. Instead of an explanation, he was asked a question in a hushed tone. "Does your brother really bug the flat?" John asked.

Sherlock sat back and looked around the room. "Perhaps we should go for a walk." Sherlock said in a strange sing song voice.

The two men got to their feet and put on their scarves and coats before descending into the biting morning air. As they passed by Mrs. Hudson's door they had to walk sideways to get around the large package outside it. Sherlock had a fleeting thought that it looked a bit like one of the organ transport containers' older siblings. He straightened his coat and put up his collar as they began to walk in earnest.

Once they were about three blocks from home John began to speak. "When I was a child my father used to take me hunting every weekend. We would spend the day stalking beautiful prey, and the night making sure nothing went to waste. Do you understand what I am telling you, Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked at John, confusion still lining his face. "Not...really."

"When I was in the army I had many friends. When you go through trauma like that, the friendships become a strong bond. I have a friend that I grew very close to in the army that lives in London now. His name is Brendan. Brendan is a butcher." John said, smiling.

Sherlock just looked more confused, making John chuckle. "I was proud of you for thinking up the plan last night, so I made it safe. They won't find a body." John said, as he walked into a Tesco.

Sherlock stood outside, with that same dying fish look on his face. Finally, he followed John inside. He found John in the vegetable isle picking out some carrots and onions. He strode up beside him and placed some potatoes in John's basket. "I like potatoes in my stew." He said carefully.

John turned and smiled up at him. "I thought you might be amenable." He said.

They picked out more veggies and John winked at Sherlock when he tossed in the peas. Then they got brown sugar and some wine. When they had checked out and left the store Sherlock spoke again.

"How long?"

John picked up on what he meant and said, "Since before I met you. They didn't find all of my kills. I only pick out one from every ten or so. Used to dissolve them in acid, but decided this is more economical."


	13. The Prostitute Killer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new case gets Sherlock excited and John gets info on a new target from Murray.

"Float On" by Modest Mouse

I backed my car into a cop car the other day  
Well he just drove off sometimes life's OK  
I ran my mouth off a bit too much oh what did I say  
Well you just laughed it off it was all OK

And we'll all float on OK  
And we'll all float on OK  
And we'll all float on OK  
And we'll all float on any way well

Well, a fake Jamaican took every last dime with that scam  
It was worth it just to learn from sleight-of-hand  
Bad news comes don't you worry even when it lands  
Good news will work its way to all them plans  
We both got fired on exactly the same day  
Well we'll float on good news is on the way

And we'll all float on OK  
And we'll all float on OK  
And we'll all float on OK  
And we'll all float on alright  
Already we'll all float on  
Now don't you worry we'll all float on  
Alright already we'll all float on  
Alright don't worry we'll all float on

And we'll all float on alright  
Already we'll all float on  
Alright don't worry even if things end up a bit too heavy  
We'll all float on alright  
Already we'll all float on  
Alright already we'll all float on  
OK don't worry we'll all float on  
Even if things get heavy we'll all float on  
Alright already we'll all float on  
Don't you worry we'll all float on  
All float on

The next week Sherlock got a new case. Lestrade texted him to let him know that a man had been found with his eyes and tongue removed with what looked like surgical tools. Sherlock bounded up the stairs to John's room.

"Get up John, we have a case!" Sherlock said, leaving as quickly as he entered. 

John shook himself awake and sat up in bed. The previous night he had dreamed of Sherlock. He had been kidnapped, and John was losing his mind trying to find him. He was alone in his search. He finally found Sherlock's cold form laying in an alley behind the bar where he had killed Alastair Smith. The hole in Sherlock's head was familiar, and as he looked down he noticed a bit of brain matter on his jacket. He held his old gun in his hand, and dropped it when he realized that he had caused Sherlock's death. He awoke covered in sweat, hearing the violin from downstairs. Sherlock was alive, and he was able to go back to sleep.

His bedside clock blinked five thirty as he brushed sleep from his eyes. He got up, gathered clothes for the day and made his way quickly to the bathroom. The tiles were cold on his feet as he undressed. He turned on the tap, and when the water was suitably warm he stepped in. His thoughts drifted to the mission as he washed his hair. He hadn't worked on his list in a week, and the need to continue was making him itch. Maybe a good case would help him unwind. 

When John got to the living room Sherlock was bouncing on the balls of his feet. He looked at John and smiled that glittering smile that only ever meant bad things for the Met.

"Come John, we're going to be late!" He said, putting on his coat and buzzing to the door. John smiled at his bizarre roommate and followed him down and out into the silent early morning. They hailed a cab and made their way to the crime scene. Sherlock was electric with joy as John sat trying to fully wake up. 

"So, tell me about the case." He prompted, knowing Sherlock was eager to tell him. 

"This could be a seven! Man found in an alley missing his eyes and tongue. Lestrade says the eyes were removed with a surgical blade. The Met is once again out of their depth. They couldn't find a shoe if it was laced on their foot." Sherlock said with a devious smile. John just shook his head. Once at the crime scene Sherlock went into full detective mode and John walked over to chat with Lestrade. 

"Sorry to wake you this early, John." Lestrade said with a grimace. He handed John a cup of coffee, and John took it gratefully. 

"Ta, wouldn't want the corpse to go bad. Lord knows he can't stand for a hampered crime scene." John replied, rolling his eyes. 

Sherlock flitted over the body, getting close and examining the corpse. Once he had done so for a few minutes he stood, straightening his suit and strode over to Lestrade and John. 

"What have you got?" Lestrade asked. 

"More than you." Sherlock replied, eliciting a sigh from John. "This man has recently had sex. He dropped trou and did it in this alley, going by the stains on his back pockets. Hints of lubrication and bodily fluids on his fingers, and the wedding band on his finger suggest that the victim was a closeted homosexual. Possibly murdered by a prostitute. Keep your eyes open for other bodies. There will be more." 

"How do you know it wasn't just a jilted lover?" Lestrade asked. 

"A jilted lover that has sex in an alley and leaves with cash? Hardly Lestrade, use your eyes. The bills sticking out a bit from his pocket, the condom wrapper under his leg. Even anderson could see that." Sherlock replied mockingly as he strode away. 

"Brilliant" John said under his breath. 

"Come along John." He shouted over his shoulder. 

John raised his eyebrows at Lestrade and jogged after Sherlock. Once he made it to the street Sherlock was already climbing into a cab that had shown up like magic. He would never get over how Sherlock managed to hailed cabs out of thin air. He climbed in beside the detective and the cab rolled away from the kerb. 

Once home John made tea and sat down at his computer. He opened an email from Murray and wrote an address down on a scrap of paper. He took the last sip of tea and stood. 

"I'll be back in twenty." He told Sherlock, putting on his jacket and heading down the stairs. Sherlock sat on the couch, still in his mind palace. Once on the street John walked the few blocks to the address in the email and took a smal envelope from under the mat outside the front door. He stuck it in his jacket pocket and returned to baker street.

When he made it up the stairs and into the flat Sherlock was still laying on the couch with fingers stippled beneath his chin. John chuckled at the sight and opened the envelope. Inside was a paper stating the comings and goings of one Rupert Harris over the last month. The serial rapist went out every Tuesday and Saturday to a local bar, and remained there until late into the night. John looked over his work schedule and found that he had Saturday night off. Just as he was about to get up he felt Sherlock's breath on his neck. 

"Oi! Are you trying to get yourself throttled?" He hissed. 

"You're going out this Saturday. Let me come with you." Sherlock said. 

"No, absolutely not. You buggered up royally last time. If you want to watch, you will have to do it without me knowing. I know I can't stop you from following, but if I see you there I swear, Sherlock, you will rue the day." John replied. 

Sherlock huffed and strode off, slamming his bedroom door behind him. John got up and got ready to go to work, trying not to think of the obvious grumpy mood Sherlock would be in for the rest of the day. 

\-----

Why was John treating him like a child? He was just as important to the mission as John was to the work. Sherlock thought while pacing the floor of his bedroom. What he didn't want to admit was that he was less angry at John's answer than he was embarrassed at remembering how the last murder ended. He had always been the one to think things through, and it still stung to know he had failed John.

\-----

When John got home that night Sherlock was still in his bedroom. John ordered delivery chinese and went to knock on Sherlock's door.

"Sherlock? I ordered chinese." He said through the door. When he didn't receive an answer he tried again. "Sherlock, can I come in."

"I can't stop you." Sherlock replied from the other side of the door.

John went into the room and sat beside Sherlock on the bed. 

"I'm sorry if I was short with you earlier. It's just that you could have gotten us both caught. I know you were only trying to help. You can come Saturday if you can keep from being seen." John said, leaning his head against Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock smiled a bit. "Thank you John, I won't get in the way."

John got up from the bed and went into the kitchen to make tea. Later on the Chinese food arrived and they both ate although Sherlock only really picked out the veggies. John sighed as he watched him chew. This week was going to be a long one. He almost thought that it would be nice if another body showed up in an alley. Almost.


	14. Do Anything We Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock solve the case and start on the path to something more than just friends.

"Anything We Want" by Fiona Apple

My cheeks were reflecting the longest wavelength  
My fan was folded up and grazing my forehead  
And I kept touching my neck  
To guide your eye to where I wanted you to kiss me when we find some time alone.

My scars were reflecting the mist in your headlights  
I looked like a neon zebra shaking rain off her stripes  
And the rivulets had you riveted to the places that I wanted you to kiss me when we find some time alone

And then we can do anything we want  
And then we can do anything we want  
And then we can do anything we want

We started out sipping the water  
And now we try to swallow the wave  
And we try not to let those bastards get us down  
We don't worry anymore cause we know when the guff comes we get brave  
After all, look around  
It's happening, it's happening, it's happening now

Let's pretend we're eight years old playing hookey  
I'll draw on the wall and you can play UFC rookie  
Then we'll grow up  
Take our clothes off  
And you remind me that I wanted you to kiss me when we find some time alone

And then we can do anything we want  
And then we can do anything we want  
And then we can do anything we want  
And then we can do anything we want

 

The next few days were hectic. Two new bodies showed up in alleys close to mid London, and Sherlock seemed less interested in them than he did in John's comings and goings. When John was at work he would receive at least seven texts from the man, prompting him to put his mobile on silent. Once home Sherlock would berate him about ignoring the texts and John was close to losing it and telling Sherlock off. Luckily Mycroft showed up on the third night to talk to his brother, and asked John to leave the flat. John texted Lestrade and the two met at the local pub. 

"He's been driving me mad, Greg. He wants to know where I am at all times, and won't stop texting me. He is acting so obsessed. " John said, taking a drink from his pint. 

" I have a feeling it's not an act. He hasn't given a damn about anyone but you in the whole seven years I've known him. He's not one to be romantically inclined, but I know he feels something for you. I may be overstepping here, but you haven't had a girlfriend since we've met... are you interested in him? "Lestrade finished. 

" Yeah Greg, that was a bit over the line." John remarked as Lestrade blushed. "To tell you the truth though, I'm not sure where I stand in that case. He is a controlling bastard most of the time, and God knows he hasn't been even a bit affectionate, but there really seems to be no one else for me now. I'm beginning to wonder if he's thoroughly ruined me for women, or if he's the best thing that's come along. " John replied. 

" As for the affection, I'm not sure if he's ever had anyone. I don't even know if he partakes. He probably has no idea how to move it along." Greg said thoughtfully. "You two are perfect halves though, if you ask me." 

\-----

Back at Baker Street a very similar if not colder conversation was taking place. 

"Really, dear brother, do you really not see how you've changed? This army fellow has been the best thing to show up ragged on your doorstep for a long time. You can't continue to be so obsessive. Fourteen texts in five hours? You're going to scare the lad off. " Mycroft said, fiddling with his umbrella. 

" You really aren't in the position to scoff at obsession, Mycroft. Monitoring my phone again? What's the matter, is it not enough to have me followed? Maybe you would be less worried if you minded your own business for once. Don't you have a country to run? " Sherlock hissed. 

" You ARE my business Sherlock, and you will continue to be until you start acting like an adult rather than an insolent child. Get your house in order, dear brother, or you may lose the thing you hold most dear. " Mycroft said, rising and heading for the door. 

Sherlock huffed and threw himself onto the couch, breathing roughly into the cushions. 

\-----

John and Lestrade were on their second lager when John received a text from Sherlock. Lestrade's mobile chimed at the same time, and before John could read his text or ask Lestrade where he was going the man had jumped from the table and started jogging to the door. 

"New body, alley behind Williamson road. You coming? " Lestrade called to John over his shoulder. 

" Sure. "John said, getting his coat and trotting after Greg. 

Greg hailed a cab and he and John settled into the back seat as John finally looked at the text. Unsurprisingly it was from Sherlock. 

You can come home now, that oaf is gone. SH

John quickly typed out a message giving the address of the newest body and leaned back to look out the window at the passing London streets. His life had really changed since meeting Sherlock, and he wondered if he would ever be able to leave the mad bastard. The answer of course, was a resounding no. It was settled then, he would talk to Sherlock tonight. 

They arrived at the alley to find Sherlock already assessing the body and the forensic team silently murdering him with their eyes from ten feet away. Lestrade went to talk to Donovan and John went to Sherlock 's side. 

"Anything new? " John asked quietly. 

" Not quite, but I've begun to create a suspect list, and I think this body has narrowed it quite a bit. Let's go. " Sherlock said, standing quickly. 

As he walked from the crime scene to the street he ignored the confused cries from Lestrade. After getting into the cab John turned to him warily. 

" Bit rude leaving without giving Lestrade more info. You aren't planning on going this one alone, are you? " John asked. 

Sherlock 's eyes glinted at John. 

" I don't have to go alone. Not now that I have you. " He replied grinning. 

John sighed and resigned himself to pointedly NOT thinking about his life of almost crime with this lunatic. 

\-----

It was a half hour later and John was following Sherlock down a back alley after a male prostitute with a knife. They wound around a corner and when the man realised he was at a dead end he looked manic. He held out the small blade and reminded John very vividly of a frightened dog. He bared his teeth before attempting to plunge the blade into Sherlock. Sherlock moved just in time and John hit the man who fell to the ground and hit his head with a sickening thud. 

It took twenty minutes for Lestrade to make it to them, and he was less than happy when he found that Sherlock had detained the man with the police issue handcuffs that had disappeared last week. Sherlock brushed that off easily and convinced Greg to let them come in the next day to give a statement. 

\-----

"That was ridiculous Sherlock. You could have gotten us both killed. " John said, leaning against the wall in the hallway once they got home. His words were harsh, but he wore a smile. 

Sherlock rested next to him, chuckling and obviously buzzing with adrenaline. John took that giddy moment to make a move he wouldn't have the guts for later. He turned and boxed in Sherlock with his arms on either side of his head. Sherlock looked shocked, but John continued. He leaned in close and locked their lips together. Sherlock went stiff at first, but soon became pliant. John pulled back and looked at him in the eyes. 

"I'd tell you not to get yourself into situations like that, but that wouldn't make a bit of difference, would it? " John said, shaking his head. 

" And that's why you love me. " Sherlock replied. It took a second for him to realise what he had said. He blushed and for a second John thought he would run from the room. 

" I do, you know. I love you, you impossible, improbable, stubborn man. " John replied smiling. 

Sherlock smiled back sheepishly, and John kissed him again.


	15. Big Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft has a talk with John. John doesn't take it well.

Two days later on his way to market John had a black sedan pull up beside him on the kerb and pace him. He turned and frowned as the back door opened and a reptilian looking Mycroft Holmes crooked a finger. He hesitantly entered the car and closed the door behind himself. 

"I don't believe we've officially met outside of Baker street. Yet you know what this means. My brother has become quite fond of you, and going by your actions last night I believe it is reciprocated." Mycroft said, smiling frighteningly. 

"My... actions? " John asked, stomach turning. 

" Yes. " Mycroft replied." Your admission of love was quite touching. "

John blanched and fought back the impulse to vomit. 

" How? " He asked, voice shaky with fear. 

" Oh, I've been monitoring the flat for some time, and I have to say... if you hurt my brother, your amateur clandestine actions will definitely come to light. I can't change what you have done, so I offer you this. " Mycroft said handing a black dossier to the pain stricken man. 

" What is it? " John asked, eyes wide. 

" Why it's your new assignment. Your bloodlust needs to be put to better use if you wish to stay out of penitentiary. I figured a job with the British government would also fulfill your sense of duty. " Mycroft replied, eyes glinting." I suggest you take the offer, John. That is, if you ever want to see the light of day again. "

The car came to a stop and John got out to find himself standing in the exact place he had gotten in. He stood for a while, hyperventilating, and then began the walk home. 

\-----

When John returned to the flat Sherlock was sitting on the couch tapping away at his phone. He smelled the air before rising and walking towards John. He looked John up and down and squinted. 

"You look like you've seen a ghost, and as far as I know my brother hasn't passed away. What did he say to get you so rattled? " Sherlock asked. 

John stood silently for a moment and moved his mouth like he was trying to speak. Finally he found his voice. " He knows." John replied. 

Sherlock tilted his head. "He knows what? John, why are you shaking? What did he do?" Sherlock demanded. 

"He knows... Everything." John said quietly. "He's had the flat bugged. He knows about the mission." 

Sherlock sighed and turned away, his signal that he thought John was overreacting. "I've known that for a long while." 

John erupted angrily. "You knew and you decided that I didn't need to? What the hell, Sherlock? I could have gone to jail... we both could have gone to jail!" 

"Nonsense. Mycroft would never put you in harms way. It's not like the mission is unethical. Mycroft has killed more men this year than you have in your entire adult life. Although he doesn't like to admit it, he IS one of the CIA's best operatives. He goes out and fights crime when he's bored, you see. There's really no reason to get so flustered. " Sherlock concluded. 

John sat down dejectedly in his chair, breath coming in pained puffs." He's told me to stop. The mission... It used to be all that I had. It used to be the only thing that kept me sane. The only way I could feel like I was making a difference. I'm not sure what I am without it. " 

When John looked up he was surprised to see that Sherlock wasn't there. He had apparently left the flat. John sunk deeper into the chair and put his head in his hands. Today was a very bad day. 

\-----

The door to Mycroft 's office slammed open and an extremely livid Sherlock Holmes stomped into the room. Anthea stood behind him, wide eyed and breathing quickly. Her face could only be seen for a fraction of a second before the door was closed loudly. 

"Sherlock, how nice to see you. To what do I owe the-" Mycroft began, looking humorously at his younger brother. 

"HOW DARE YOU? HOW? BLOODY? DARE? YOU? " Sherlock bellowed. "He's mine! I found him! What's the matter? Running England isn't enough for you? You have to run his life too? You always were a greedy bastard, Mycroft, but this really takes the cake. You have to have what's mine, don't you? I would have thought it was over after how things ended with you and Victor. Do you really want to be humiliated again? "

Mycroft blushed briefly before straightening his tie." I'm sure I have no idea what you are talking about. " He responded. 

" You know exactly what I mean. You can't just come in whenever you want and steal my happiness. The mission is all I have. It's the only thing keeping John with me. Without it, he will tire of me and leave. You selfish prick. Why couldn't you just leave well enough alone? " Sherlock yelled back, voice trembling and eyes edged with tears. 

" What Victor and I had was nothing to do with you, Sherlock. And I'm not trying to ruin your life, I am attempting to keep you safe! It will only be a matter of time before something goes wrong and both of you end up in jail. I can pull strings to get you out, but I believe you might have a hard time functioning while your dear doctor is still in prison. So hold your damn tongue and let me help you. Did John even take the time to open the file that I gave him? " Mycroft asked. 

Sherlock looked confused for a second before Mycroft spoke. 

" So he didn't. I should have known he would be too shaken to look at it. Inside the dossier is a new and improved list. I have gone over the list the two of you made and added some names of my own." Mycroft said.   
Sherlock still looked puzzled so Mycroft continued. "It seems to me that your army doctor is just as stubborn as you, so I took the liberty of making the mission officially sanctioned, though still covert. You can have your doctor, and your mission, Sherlock. I.. Never intended to hurt you." 

Sherlock straightened his back and played with his cuffs while looking at the floor. "Oh." He said. 

Mycroft smiled a bit. 

"Now, if you don't mind, as you have so correctly stated, I have a country to run. " He said, and went back to work. 

Sherlock stood still for a moment and then turned and left, eyebrows still furrowed. 

\-----

Once home Sherlock jogged up the stairs to find John in the same place he had left him over an hour ago. His breathing had slowed, but the pain was still evident in his posture. 

"John. " He said quietly, trying and failing to prevent the jolt of fear John felt upon finding himself no longer alone." Have you looked in the file? " 

John looked up at him, eyes sad, and his heart broke just a little bit. 

" I didn't see the point. Figure I'll put off walking into your brother's clutches as long as I can. " He said with a withering smile. 

Sherlock walked to the kitchen counter, where the papers were laid and retrieved them. He walked to John's chair and knelt beside him, holding out the glossy packet. 

" Just... take a look. " He begged. 

John took the folder and opened it. Confusion, realisation and the relief flowed over his face. He chuckled deeply. 

" I...guess he's not as much a bastard as I thought. " John concluded. 

" I'm sure he did his best to put the fear of God in you. I think he was merely attempting to play the role he sees as older brother. I apologize for the confusion. " Sherlock replied, smiling up at John, his John. 

John smiled down at him and then rose to his feet to make tea. This was, Sherlock realised happily, his resting state. Sherlock rose to join him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be it, folks, I'm thinking about an epilogue.


	16. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They get their happily ever after.
> 
> Edit: I guess happily ever after is kind of a lie because they both die in the end, not they do have years and years together.

Things were not necessarily easy after that. They had their ups and downs, but in the end they stuck together. They were two halves of a whole as Lestrade had suggested so many years ago. They were married five years after their first meeting in a local church. John wore a black tux and Sherlock a white one. Both were giddy and proud. 

It took a long time to slow either of them down, but it did happen eventually. John's shoulder injury got worse with the years. Cold packs and pain medications only did so much for the damaged flesh. By the time he retired he was no longer going on adventures with Sherlock and the met. He worried for a brief time if this would be the change that would lose him Sherlock. 

The opposite happened. Sherlock spent more time at home with John than he ever had. He made tea more often, and even turned down cases he would have jumped for years ago. 

They settled into a nice domestic routine. John took up writing long ago, but once he had the time it turned serious. He started writing detective novels, and even expanded some of the cases Sherlock had solved for the local newspaper. 

Sherlock spent more time on his experiments, and they even turned the upstairs room into a laboratory for him. With John's constant support he began to thrive. He realized that he didn't have to make everyone happy to be happy. He even went back to school to get three more science degrees and an honorary teaching degree in advanced forensics. 

Sherlock taught an infamous two month course every spring at the University of Tennessee facility known as the body farm. Spring in Tennessee was a wonderful respite from the cold London weather, and John joined Sherlock at a little cabin they rented every year. The two month course was filled with eager young students who only slightly regretted signing up. 

Sherlock had become a rather infamous teacher due to his personality and the fact that he was only around for one semester a year. Many a young female student at UTK ended up with a shock after trying to flirt with the handsome British professor. 

John spent the spring months on the porch of their cabin with his laptop, writing of daring adventures and near impossible escapes. Sometimes he spoke to the students about the various ways that forensic science and medicine complimented each other. He spent many an afternoon with Sherlock ' s charges, calming their frazzled nerves and explaining his husband' s bizarre moods. 

All in all, they had a fulfilling life together. Even once they had both retired, and old age started treating them poorly, they had each other. When John got pancreatic cancer at eighty-three Sherlock was devastated. He didn't speak for days. John did the comforting while his body was slowly eaten away by disease. 

When John finally passed Sherlock lost the will to live. He suffered like an animal who had lost its mate. He stopped eating and spent most days in bed, staring at the ceiling. It took less than a month for his body to shut down. In the last moment he could have sworn that he felt John's weight in the bed next to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank all of you for hanging in there with me!

**Author's Note:**

> As always, your comments and kudos mean the world to me! Constructive grammar and spelling corrections always welcome.


End file.
